


Long Live the Princess

by starryeyeddreamers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Child Death, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Leukemia, M/M, Sad sad sad, Yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyeddreamers/pseuds/starryeyeddreamers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something Grantaire hasn't told his friends. Someone he has to visit every May.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the Princess

He wonders what the teacher told the rest of her class.

He wonders if Ms.Whatever her name was had explained where she had gone. If she had explained why the girl with dark hair and big bright eyes that always wore a pink ribbon in her hair, even when she had no hair, why that girl was never going to stand in line with them again. 

He wondered if anyone of those kindergartners knew what death meant.

Did they know what forever meant?

Of course not. They couldn’t grasp that she wasn’t at home, coloring another picture to show her brother. That she would never hold a crayon again. Would never show her brother a drawing again. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about all the things she would never do again. Be line leader. Count to ten. Sing along with the princess movies. Laugh with all her teeth missing. Laugh despite all her hair missing. Giggle while petting a rabbit. Rip open lumpy Christmas presents. Hold his hand. Kiss his cheek. Go for a ride with him and Lucie, happy to be chattering in the back seat. Pucker her little face when he dared her to lick a lemon while he made lemonade for the stand she insisted on. Smile.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/933598/edit#

She would never again overhear that she had been a mistake, a happy mistake, but one nonetheless. She would never hear their mother’s gasps at the bruises blossoming on her spine. Never be sore again. Never vomit again. Never hear another diagnosis. Never cry again. Never to be touched by an IV again. Never to be held in arms again, curled around her on a stiff hospital bed. Never to miss school for an appointment again. Never have her head shaved again, black curls gathering on the floor as a tear tripped down her baby cheeks. Never worry about not looking like a princess again.

Maybe it was better this way. For her.

She didn’t have to see her mother pulled down by the firefighters with their broad shoulders and the tears in their eyes. She never saw the bruises on her mother’s neck, or the closed casket at the funeral. She never saw her father pressing his fingers into her brother’s wrist, taking out the unfairness on someone else. She never saw her big sister move away, across the ocean with a strange husband that she hadn’t deemed a prince before Lucie married him. She never saw her beloved brother turn to alcohol to forget her sweet, little voice.

He was glad for that.

But this year, Lucie was in America. They had visited the cemetery every May, laying a crown on the tiny headstone. But this year, he was alone. He had to face the memories alone.

He hadn’t answered his phone all week. He had never mentioned her to his friends. He had never mentioned the hours spent reading and painting at the children’s hospital, trying to make children happy like she made him.

 

But Enjolras knew something was wrong.

He followed Grantaire to the flower shop. He saw the tiara he bought at the costume store. He followed him to the cemetery.

He felt guilty the whole way.

“Enjolras just come out already.” Grantaire said loudly but kindly. Enjolras emerged sheepishly from the oak tree he was leaned against. “I would have told you if you just asked.” He added, quieter. For once Enjolras is speechless.

He sits next to the raven haired man in front of a small headstone. The grass is soft and vibrant. The air is warm. Grantaire had placed the tiara carefully on top. He had laid the bouquet of daisies at the foot of it.

“Her name was Clare.” Grantarie whispered after a long silence. Enjolras took the other man’s hand, not pushing him, and instead rubbed circles into the back of his hand. Grantaire leaned into his shoulder.

“I was eleven when she was born, Lucie was fourteen. My mother called her a happy mistake.” Enjolras nodded. He had met Grantaire’s older sister, Lucie, who was quite the free spirit, but a bit more responsible than her brother. But Grantaire had never mentioned another sister. 

“She was three when the bruises started, all over her body.” He huffed out a breath. “Her skin was so pale, I called her Snow White.” His curls swayed with the gentle breeze. “It got so hard for her to move, she was so tired. She had loved school, to draw.” His tone is calm, there are no tears. Enjolras swings a long arm around his shoulders and pulls the black haired man to his side. Usually Grantaire asks for permission to touch Enjolras. But today he does not seem in awe, but in shock.

“She was diagnosed with leukemia when she was four and a half. She went kindergarten because she begged and begged. Everyday she brought a drawing home for me, because she loved my paintings.” He is stiff in the blond’s arms, tense. “I would stay with her in the hospital, everyday.” 

A car rolls by. An elderly woman offers a knowing look.

“I never went to school. That’s why I had to repeat a year you know.” Enjolras does know, but they had always assumed it had something to do with his alcoholism or general attitude. “I stopped caring about anything else.”  
Enjolras tightened his arms and regretted ever doubting Grantaire.

“Her hair and teeth were falling out at the same time. Jack O’Lantern Clare.” He smiled sardonically. “Her pink ribbon.” A heavy sigh as he mumbled. Enjolras remembered the ribbon he has permanently tied around his wrist, hidden now under a flannel shirt.

He realized Grantaire’s face is smooth, not scratchy against his neck. He shaved for this. He wanted to look his best.

“Want to know what my mother’s suicide note said?” Enjolras squeezed his hand in response, it is not his place to talk today. “She was our mistake, but this was God’s mistake.” Enjolras couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath he took. He knew now when Grantaire had become who he was today. 

“She died in my arms Enjolras. During the night, her little body quietly gave up. She died with me next to her in that hospital bed. She was six fucking years old." Grantaire’s tone finally deviated from the eerie, calm, tone it had had to one of almost hysteria. “I can’t believe in anything anymore, but I have to believe in heaven.” His chest heaved as the tears finally started to fall. Enjolras knows he had never voiced this to anyone. “I have to believe I’ll see her again.” He hides his face in the other man’s shoulder. Enjolras pressed a kiss carefully on his friend’s curls before carding through them with his lean fingers. “She was the only beautiful thing I’ve ever believed in.” 

Enjolras who had only recently figured out his feelings towards Grantaire, would not have believed what else had come out of Grantaire’s lips next had he not strained to hear it with his own ears. “Until you.” He had felt it whispered into his shoulder, not really for his ears to hear.

Grantaire pulled his reddened face out of hiding and looked at Enjolras, speaking to him again. “She would have loved you, would have thought you were a prince.” He grinned easily, making Enjolras grin in return. 

Grantaire, for all his disillusionment towards God, sincerely hopes that there is a heaven. He has a ribbon for his sister’s hair and someone for Clare to meet when he gets there. 

He hummed "Once Upon a Dream" the whole walk home, Enjolras never let go of his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh yeah. Title is allusion to Frank Turner's "Long Live the Queen" also someone please help me with my characterizations


End file.
